


With life to live over, I’d do it again.

by sally (team_fen)



Category: Tortall series - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 21:39:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/team_fen/pseuds/sally
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a mash-up of the Song of the Lioness with 12th century Mediterranean history.  Roger is King of Tortall, George is Captain of a ship and Alanna is herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With life to live over, I’d do it again.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aimeebeff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimeebeff/gifts).



**With life to live over, I’d do it again.**

** ****

_George drops the buttonhole of nosegays onto the altar and watches his mother light a stick of incense, same’s he does every Temple day.  They kneel and George watches his mother close her eyes and offer a prayer.  He looks up at the marble statue and thinks the same thing he always does: the Goddess is beautiful, but she’s cold and hard._

_Marek showed him an idol yesterday – just a little one.  A sly grinning man, hand carved in wood, warm from being tucked away in Marek’s clothes._

_“It’s the Trickster,” Marek had whispered. “The Rogue gave ‘im to me hisself.”_

_“You didn’t meet the Rogue,” George was having none of it. “Give it here,” he said.  He’d grabbed the Trickster and raised him up to see him better in the light._

_“What’re you doin’?  If the Provost catches us with ‘im, we’re locked up for sure.”  Marek grabbed him back and spat over his shoulder to keep the Dogs away.  “You gotta keep ‘im secret.”_

_George looks at the Goddess’ altar and wonders how much trouble he’d be in if he swiped one of those little gold rings.  None, he decides, if he doesn’t get caught._

******

George sets off for an unfamiliar destination with a weight in his pocket, hope in his chest, a fast horse under him and two good men at his side.  It takes a while, but he tracks down the Bloody Hawk, and with them, Alanna the Lioness.  She’s bent over a pan, ferociously scouring it with sand, but she straightens when she sees him coming.

He picks her up and swings her round and around, until she laughs and shrieks, “Put me down George, you lunatic!”

“It’s good to see you,” she stares at him and grins, an expression he’s sure he’s returning. 

“And you,” he agrees.

“And are you here at this stretch of the desert for pleasure or business?” Alanna asks.

“While it’s always a pleasure, I do, as a matter of fact, have some business to attend to for your newly minted King.”

“Newly minted?”

George huffs and offers his fist to her.  He manages to squeeze a truly shameless amount of hand-holding into dropping a coin on her palm.  “Behold the Ducat, your new currency.”

She rolls her eyes. “Our currency.  You were a citizen too, last time I checked.”

“The face is supposed to be Roger, and the other side is Roger-the-Duke crowning Roger-the-King.”

“I hear they can do that with magic these days,” Alanna says blandly.  Her nose scrunches.  “It doesn’t really look like him.”

“That’s because he isn’t smiling.”

“That’s it!” Alanna agrees, laughing.  She glances over her shoulder nervously, as though Roger can hear her joking at his expense.  She tries scowling at George.  “Not that it’s not nice to see you, but why are you here?”

“His Majesty has orders for you.”

“And he sent you.  To the desert.  Where there are no boats.”

“Luckily what he wants and what I want often have a way of working together nicely.  I offered to come.”

“Come and say--” she prompts.  Her foot taps impatiently.

George grins; he’s missed her a lot.  He takes her hand in his and makes a huge production of lowering himself to the ground.

“George, what are you doing?”

He pulls a chain from around his neck - slowly for dramatic effect.

“George, get up!” Alanna hisses and pulls on his arm.  “People are staring!”  She is both determined and strong for a short woman, and George actually has to put his weight into staying right where he is. 

“This ring once belonged to my Mother,” he reveals, taking a small gold band off the chain.  “I kept it with me wherever I went, and it always reminded me of her.  It may be plain and not very valuable, but it has significance to me and it’s always brought me luck.  I give it to you as a sign of my affection – wear it and know that my heart is with you always.”  He slides it over her finger; it sticks a bit on her knuckle. 

“Alanna of Trebond and Olau, tribeswoman of the Bloody Hawk, I love you and want to spend the rest of my life making you happy.  Would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”

“Yes,” she says.  “Yes, I will marry you, George Cooper.  Now will you please stand up.”

He does, only to dip her back in an extravagant kiss.

“Gods you’re infuriating,” she says, exasperated.

“You can come out now,” George calls.

His two crewmen, who had made themselves scarce upon arrival, both cheer… and critique his style.  Alanna’s tribe stop pretending they weren’t riveted and offer up their congratulations and some fairly bold advice.  George accepts the teasing about his strange Northern customs with good grace. 

Later on, when they’re alone, he asks her, “How would you like a summer wedding, after we return from Maren?”

“Summer’s nice,” she says, not really attending.  And then: “Meron?  You mean outside Persepolis?”

“A little farther than that,” George replies diplomatically.

He explains how they’ll be part of a Tortallan delegation to Roger’s cousin, Jonathan, the Crown Prince of Meron.  Since she doesn’t ask, he doesn’t tell her how they’ll be travelling a week and a half by sea, or how she’ll likely be sick the whole way there.

**

_Their mark is smarter than they give him credit for, and it’s their undoing.  George waits long enough to see Marek get away safe and so the Dogs catch him and shove him roughly to the ground.  They haul him off to the yard, but not before he gets smacked down for biting the Dog painfully gripping his shoulder._

_“George Cooper, in’nt it,” says Officer Dow.  “What was it I told you the last time you were caught picking pockets?”_

_“Get stuffed,” spits George._

_“Kiss your mam with that mouth?”_

_“Don’t you talk about my mother.”_

_“Oh-ho, your Mother, is it?  Let’s go see what the high-fallutin’ Mistress Cooper has to say about her highly educated son’s current activities.”_

_George deflates at that._

_They make a big production out of shaming him and his mother in full sight of all their neighbours.  She wears her blankest face and gets rid of them fast as possible.  For all that she doesn’t like him hanging out with the thieves, she isn’t too fond of the Provost’s dogs either.  They can’t leave without a parting shot, though: “Told you your boy’s no good.  Next time we won’t be so nice – we’ll let him sit it out in a cell a day or two.”_

_They turn the dusty corner and his mother finally looks down at him.  “Into the house,” she says, and George goes.  “Sit,” she says._

_She wanders into the tiny bedroom they share and George cranes his neck to try and see what’s happening._

_She comes back out with a half filled sack, into which she stuffs a round of bread, some cheese and a couple of apples, and the Black God wept, will she please look at him?_

_“Walk with me,” she says, gesturing to the door.  George goes out first and follows her exactly two steps behind as she sets off through the maze of the lower city.  Marek looks down from an open window and they exchange confused glances until his mother, without turning around, says “George,” and he trots off after her again. _

_They wind up at the crowded docks, which his mother navigates with ease.  George struggles to keep up.  He only catches snatches of the activity – traders of every nationality shouting in every language, sailors moving cargo, kids begging and picking pockets, and in the spaces between, birds, cats, dogs and rats._

_She approaches a grizzled old man.  “Corbin Farrow,” she hails him.  “How’s the leg?”_

_He turns around slowly, and George realizes his leg is a prosthetic.  “Well, I’ll be.  If it ain’t Mistress Cooper.  The leg is fine –no more ‘n I can handle.”_

_He takes in George, eyebrow raised.  “And who’s the young’un?”_

_“This is my son, George,” says his mother, and pushes George forward._

_“Captain Farrow,” George greets him, stunned.  For that’s who he is – the hero of the seas, or the dread pirate that terrorizes the seaway, depending on who’s telling the tale._

_“Huh.  Smart boy,” grunts Farrow._

_“I want you to take him,” his mother says, not one to beat around the bush.  George stares up at her._

_“Why?” Farrow belly-laughs.  “You trouble, boy?”_

_“Nothing you can’t handle,” his mother replies.  “Do you have room for a ship’s boy?”_

_“Is that how it is, then.  A’right.  Suppose we’ve a berth to spare.”_

_“Thank you.  Consider your debt repaid in full.  I’ll send him along as soon as I’ve said goodbye.”_

_“A pleasure as always.”  He turns back around and continues to do something complicated with rope. _

_His mother nods and draws George off to the side.  “You don’t like it that I’m friends with rogues so you’re shipping me out with pirates?” George objects._

_“Shush.  Farrow’s a good man,” she dismisses him, fussing with his clothes.  “He was a friend of your father’s.  You’ll be fine.  Just do what he tells you and Merciful Goddess, don’t try to steal anything from him.”_

_“But… I have to say goodbye to Marek!”_

_“Marek,” his mother raises her eyebrows, “is what got you here in the first place.  I am trying to keep you out of jail for the rest of your life.  Now take your pack.  I know you don’t believe me, but this is for your own good.”  She hugs him, kisses him on the cheek._

_“I love you, George Cooper,” she says.  “Be good.  I’ll see you on your next shore leave.”  _

_George can still see her watching from the dock as the Rook’s Galley leaves the harbour.  The Captain introduces him to the Quartermaster, who shows him where he gets to sleep, warns him which of the crew not to bother, and hands him a mop._

******

George’s quarters aboard the Dowager are normally a comfortable living space, if not overly spacious.  They’re filled with finely crafted wooden furniture, all nailed firmly in place: a sturdy oak bed, won in a bet from Port Legann, a matching chest stolen from the Tortallan naval vessel, the King’s Fancy, a stunning roll-top desk bought and paid for from a famed Tyran artisan shop, a velvet-lined couch of mid-size, seized from a Carthaki noble’s yacht, a Tusaine-made cabinet full of secret panels for books and booze and whatever other treasures he keeps.  His walls are covered in maps – some bought, some won, some stolen, some gifted, some drawn by the King’s favourite, al-Idrisi, or George’s own navigators, past and present – or by George himself.

Normally George keeps it tidy, the minimum of clutter.  Normally, however, he does not have four women and their massive trunk of dresses on his ship.

Alanna is at her most vulnerable at sea, and even knowing how superstitious his men are about women on ships, he doesn’t trust her life to any of the other Naval commanders in case of attack.  The Lady Cythera of Elden, being the soul of generosity, insisted upon being with her from the start, presumably to provide company and to hold Alanna’s hair while she makes good use of a strategically placed bucket.  As Alanna has no ladies maid of her own, Cythera occupies a vital role.

What he doesn’t entirely understand is how the Lady Delia of Eldorne and Princess Josianne of the Copper Isles managed to invite themselves along.  By all rights, they should be travelling with the rest of the delegation on the Majestic.  Certainly the Navy’s largest ship is far better suited to their needs.

George agreed to it only to keep an eye on them.  He recognizes a major player in Delia, and he would be a fool to underestimate Josianne, crazy as she might be.

“Who knows the minds of women,” says his Quartermaster, surly with lack of privacy and sleep.  George has claimed part of the poor man’s quarters while said women occupy his.  “Mayhap one has a thing for one of your Lady’s boys,” he allows, speaking of Alanna’s knight-friends, bunking with his crew: highly elligble Raoul of Goldenlake chief among them.

“Or they like the prestige of arriving on the Flagship.”

“As likely a reason as any.  Say, you know what sounds fantastic right now – alternate shifts.”

George takes the hint, and the first watch.

Liam Ironarm is on his quarterdeck, red hair whipping in the wind.  George’s crew seem to be giving him his space, and George doesn’t blame them.  The Dragon looks a bit unhinged.

Before Alanna succumbed to seasickness, she told him a very interesting story about how Liam’s greatest fear is magic.  It’s possible that the assorted Gift-users are making him uneasy.  George keeps a couple on board to feel out and shift weather, one with a little battle magic that he luckily hasn’t had to use so far, one who can scry well enough to keep George in contact with the fleet, a healer, and his cook – who talks to fish, but only when they’re alive.

“Nice night,” George calls, alerting Liam to his presence.  “Can’t sleep?”

Liam’s stares, wild-eyed before schooling his face.  “I’ve got a roommate who snores like an avalanche,” he jokes.

“Bad luck,” George commiserates.  “Mine kicked me out for talking to him.  He’s put me on an alternate shift.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be supreme dictator of your ship?”

“Only for so long as my Quartermaster agrees with me.  I’m just glad he let me share with him; his berth is by far the nicest after mine.”

“Ah, and yours has been taken over.  Speaking of which, how does the Lady Knight fare?”

“I was hoping you knew.  I admit, between Alanna and the others, I am scared to go in there.”

“They are a formidable set of women.”

“They are at that,” George ruefully smiles his agreement.  “So, Ironarm.  Are you a gambling man?”

"I don't gamble with pirates," Liam looks at him through slanted eyes.

"How convenient for us that I'm Navy." George says, politely.

"...since they tend to be terrible cheats and equally awful losers," Liam smirks.

So, George thinks.  A challenge.

**

_George is clever and resourceful – he climbs up the ranks on the Rook’s Galley as easily as he scales the rigging, knife between his teeth.  At the tender age of nineteen, he wins the ship in a game of chance from Captain Farrow.  Farrow challenges George and loses again to him in a knife fight.  The Quartermaster and most of the crew look as though they would also like to challenge him, so before it turns into an all-out mutiny, George gets them to agree to a raid under his command.  After they would be free to vote in someone else if they felt he couldn’t handle it. _

_Luckily, the Gods smile down on him and the raid is a success.  They capture a Carthaki Merchant, travelling with no escort.  Without any injuries, his crew take out their Master at Arms and a few of his men. George slices off a piece of the Captain's ear in their duel and the man surrenders quickly.  They collect a bounty of dyes, fabrics, spices and gold bricks.  The crew, a superstitious bunch, vote all in favour of keeping Lucky George around.  In time, he also earns their respect by being competent as well as being good with his Gods and George won’t hold his breath, but he thinks it’s possible that someday he might even win over the Quartermaster._

******

The Dowager, the Majestic and the Rosalinde all pull in to harbour at roughly the same time and are greeted by the Marenite army, Gareth of Naxen, the Prime Minister, and Gareth of Naxen, the Prime Minister’s son.

George sorts out the cargo and who will manage it on the ride to the palace, and who will stay behind as a skeleton crew to man the ships.

By the time they leave the docks, Gareth the Elder is catching up on news of old friends in Tortall, and Gareth the Younger has firmly ensconced himself into the company of the women and a number of the young knights.

George gets the dubious honour of conversing with the General of the Marenite Army, so he misses the first impressions of Alanna, but he catches a bit later on.

Alanna is understandably crotchety – most of the Marenites politely avoid her, put off by how ill she appears.  She laughs morbidly at Gary when he asks after her health and says, “I may hurl on your nice leather riding boots, but I swear it’s not catching.”

Gary looks shocked and then extremely amused.  “If I were to offer my arm, I would hope that you would attempt to aim the other way.”

“I would be honour-bound to do so, I suppose,” she replies doubtfully.

“She’s just a little seasick,” Delia explains and subtly takes his arm.  “She’ll be fine. Now tell me all about the palace; I want to hear everything!”  She leads him off, Josianne and Cythera in tow.

Raoul, Francis of Nond and Geoffrey of Meron close ranks around Alanna, ensuring that she doesn’t have to deal with anyone until she feels well enough.

They have a three day ride up to the Capitol, through plains and fields.  For a country in depression, it manages to appear well tended and idyllic.  Children and townspeople run up alongside the horses to greet them and slaves stop to wave at them from where they work.  George suspects that while the main road has been carefully cultivated to impress the visitors, further inland the pretence falls apart.

******

_Whenever George takes shore leave in Corus, he seems to spend much of it running into Alan of Trebond._

_Alan is the boy with purple eyes, who rides to court on an old pony and hides secrets with a lack of guile._

_Alan is a pretty boy with a quick temper and a bold tongue, challenging him in front of a bar filled with his own crew._

_Alan considers the problems of both courts he attends with equal seriousness.  For all his loyalty to the Crown, he keeps the company of the worst thieves and murderers in the land._

_And for all Alan is clearly noble (and his friends, too), his cousin has spoken for him.  Perhaps she feels redheads should stick together.  _

_Just about the last thing he expects to see when he goes to visit his mother is Alan, sitting at her table, drinking tea and fighting tears with anger.  George only catches a few short seconds of their conversation._

_Finally knowing Alan – no, Alanna’s – secret only serves to make her that much more intriguing._

**

The herald takes forever, announcing the Tortallan delegates – the knights, the members of the peerage, the ladies, the military officials, the many artisans, musicians, players, mages, mapmakers and so on.  As each of them step up to greet the King-to-be, they offer their condolences and gifts: an exquisite breeding pair of horses, fine fabrics and tapestries, dyes, oils, wine, silver, gold, precious gemstones, jewellery, tea, spices, priceless illustrated manuscripts, weapons, magical objects, timepieces, paintings, a token from Jonathan’s parents that he might like to have.  George has to admit he is impressed by the Prince’s patience as he answers each of the well-wishers in turn.

The herald calls “The Queen’s Champion Sir Alanna the Lioness of Trebond and Olau,” and there is a frisson of tension as Jonathan’s courtiers goggle at the Lady Knight.

The Prince sits up.  "This is the woman to whom my cousin granted a shield even after she spent years deceiving the court as to her true sex?"

Alanna bristles, her hands clenching into fists.  George and most of the delegation tense, preparing for an international incident.

"Many tales of your exploits have reached us here, in Maren: how you brought home the Dominion Jewel from the Roof of the World and fought a score of demi-gods in the desert.  Although now we see you aren't ten feet tall, I begin to wonder at the rest."

Alanna purples.  "I didn't sleep with any of the Knights or Knightmasters either, but I'm sure you've heard that one, too."

The court holds their collective breath.

Jonathan smiles as though truly interested.  "I look forward to seeing you in action.  Perhaps a demonstration when you have recovered from your journey."

"The Knights of Tortall are prepared to fight at anytime, Your Majesty."  Alanna bows and stalks off, seething.

All things considered, that went about as well as George expected.

“Liam Ironarm, the Shang Dragon,” the herald cries, helpfully.  The courtiers goggle anew.   

**

_Alanna might be able to open his chest of ears without incident, but he knows that some – many if he’s being honest – of the things he’s done in his time as a pirate, she would find completely unacceptable.  Why would she ever stay with him when she could have someone with morals, someone_ good?_  George isn't one for feeling sorry for himself, so he concocts a desperately stupid plan to trade some of his freedom for at least the air of respectability._

_He sits in his cousin’s court, drinks a little more than he should and spills his guts to anyone who will listen about the many and lucrative adventures he’s had onboard a pirate ship and how the Royal Navy can’t sail worth a pig’s ear.  George distinctly recalls how Rispah tried both to get him to stop talking and to go home._

_George spends the night in the Provost’s yard._

_And the next morning he has an audience with the Conté Duke himself, and a man George recognizes from the Dancing Dove the night before.  _

_“George Cooper,” the Duke smiles at him.  “Your reputation precedes you.”_

_“You’re too kind, Your Grace,” George croaks, eyes half closed._

_“I’m not often kind,” Roger says.  “I’d like to make you a deal.  Are you listening?  Look at me.”_

_“I’m listening,” George winces and clutches his head._

_“Good.  I want you to carry on as you have been, only I want shares in whatever treasure you find.  You will also run errands for me as I see fit.”_

_“I follow your orders and pay you for the privilege.”_

_“In return, you’ll have the protection of the Navy and I will exonerate your men of any past crimes they may have committed,” Roger finishes._

_“Thrilling, What are my other options.”_

_“I was thinking of public hanging, but we haven’t had a flogging in a while, have we Myles,” he asks the other man.  “Maybe one and then the other?”_

_“Ah.  In that case I accept your offer, on certain conditions.”_

_“Oh?” says Roger, amused._

_“The Rook’s Galley will be the Navy’s flagship.”_

_Roger laughs._

_“Your Navy is pathetic and has been since King Jasson set up in Maren.  My ship is faster, better manned, better prepared for battle, and all around prettier.  My crew won’t like sharing spoils with you, but they’ll outright mutiny if I tell them they’re taking orders from the Navy.”  _

_“It sounds as though you don’t have control over your men,” Roger warns him._

_“Does it,” George says, unimpressed._

_“You make a compelling argument, Mr. Cooper, but I’m afraid the Navy would mutiny if I allowed them be commandeered by a pirate,” Roger says, a mockery of an apology._

_“So grant me a title.”_

_And Roger delightedly makes it so.  The Duke’s man draws up a record of their deal for George to sign._

Let it be known that Captain George Cooper of the Rook’s Galley became on this day George of Entoc, a former Marenite, Captain of the Dowager and Baron of Pirate’s Swoop.

_It’s a little more difficult for his crew to accept, however, when he tries to explain it to them._

_“So you get to keep your neck, sure, but what do the rest of us get for goin’ respectable?” says the Quartermaster._

_“Yeah, Cap’n.  What do we get?” the rest clamour._

_“You want something besides the privilege of sailing on my ship?”  George asks, dangerous as a knife half-drawn._

_“…Naw, Cap’n, don’t be like that.  It’s just, we’re pirates.  We don’t exactly run true to course on matters of the law,” the midshipman placates him._

_“An’ we don’t kow-tow to no land-lubber who don’t even got no fancy crown.”_

_“Can I tell you what to do?  _I_ got a fancy crown!”_

_George speaks over them. “For one thing, everyone on this ship’s been pardoned of any… youthful indiscretion; technically every last one of us is a law-abiding citizen of Tortall.”_

_“…I feel too clean,” the gunner mutters, aghast._

_“Trust me, you ain’t,” snipes the boatswain._

_“And for another, as far as this ship goes, you do what I tell you.  The big man on the hill and I have an agreement.  We will fly the Navy flag.  We will give the Duke a cut of our profit.  It suits me to command his Flagship and it will suit you, too.  Anyone with a problem will leave this ship immediately – whether we’re in safe harbour or not.”_

_Everyone grumbles.  No one leaves._

**

After a practical demonstration of Alanna’s prowess with a sword (George shows up and proudly watches her trounce every Marenite she duels), Jonathan of Conté adopts her as his new best friend.  He still regards her with some degree of amusement, only unlike Roger, the sentiment appears when she surprises him instead of when she is predictably playing directly into his hands.

George hears a lot about Jonathan’s plans for his Kingdom, after that.  How he is trying is trying to set up an alternative infrastructure so that in the future, Maren will not depend on slavery.  How to generate equality and brotherhood, he is mandating military or community service for every man and woman in the Realm, regardless of whether they are slaves or freemen, how he will provide them with education and redistribute seized land to them once they are done.  Alanna admires his passion and his idealism.

She also takes it seriously when Jonathan comes to her and lets her know he’s noticed George doing more than one suspicious thing while in his country.

**

_Roger really is as good as his word and he lets George carry on as before- a terror on the Inland Sea.  George brings back beautiful “gifts” from Tyra, he cheekily climbs the River Drell into Tusaine waters to spy and pull childish pranks in the harbour.  Occasionally he takes a shipment of hardy ponies from Sarain. _

_The Raka adore him as a smuggler but they don’t particularly trust him.  Some do serve on his ship, however, as do a number of Carthaki galley-slaves.  Roger’s official position on the Copper Isles is that their civil war is useful, since it keeps them occupied, but he is well and for any action against Carthak._

_George gladly continues to be the scourge of the Carthaki Navy.  He once makes an attempt to steal a shipment of birds headed for the Emperor’s menagerie.  It has more magical warding on it any other vessel George has ever encountered, though, and so they get nowhere near it.  They next time they sneak into the Capitol, George takes some of his frustrated crew to throw debris and obscenities at Ozorne’s castle._

_He also continues - whenever they it will give them an advantage - to fly his old flag: a skull and crossbones on a black background.  He’s since nicknamed it “The Jolly Roger,” for its grin that strikes terror into the hearts of men.  Ships of 300 heavily armed men have been known to lay down their arms and surrender when they see it coming.  Of course, when a ship does put up a fight, George is obligated, as a pirate, to kill them to the last man._

_He knows someone who knows what’s being shipped in and out of every major city on the inland sea, and he rewards them handsomely for good information._

_His Bazhir Master-At-Arms calls him Amir-al-bahr, the Commander of the Sea, and the name spreads to the entire Navy.  They shorten it to the Admiral._

******

Alanna comes and finds him.

“George, you’re not… you’re not up to anything… pirate-y are you?”

George puts down the letter he’s writing.

“The diplomats are doing good work – important work on trade and foreign policy, and I’d hate to think that any illegal activity would jeopardize the talks.”

She looks like she’d rather be anywhere but here, having this conversation. And yet—

“Please, George.  Don’t do whatever it is you’re doing.  Please don’t make me regret wanting to marry you.”  It hangs in the silence.  Alanna’s eyes widen as though the words came from someone else’s mouth.

“I’m here on official Navy business,” George states for the record.  “I’m serving the King.”

“George, wait, I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have--“

He cuts her off.  “Whose work are you doing, Alanna?” 

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Think on it,” George advises.

**

_George never knows whether or not Roger is behind the Tusaine War.  He just can’t see pleasure-happy Tusaine having the daring to oppose organized and efficient Maren on its own._

_For George, it doesn’t change much of anything, except that the ships he raids that season carry some interesting and highly valuable spoils.  Prized Tusainie wines, oils and cheeses; fine linens, teas and precious ore from Maren._

_He also carries a number of messages and objects with magical properties from Roger into Maren, some for King Roald and his advisors, some for their mages._

_A horrible plague breaks out in Maren and George sits in the harbour, watching the massive funeral pyres float by to the sound of bells and wailing._

_He takes a message back to Roger: a desperate plea for help from their Tortallan allies.  With so many dead or dying, the Marenite army is depleted.  They can’t fight both Tusaine and the Sweating Sickness, as they have taken to calling it._

_Roger agrees on the condition that they give up their claim to Tortall, a country their son and current heir has never even seen.   He sends his army, quickly subdues Tusaine and celebrates with a coronation.  It’s all a little too neat for George’s liking._

_He puts together one of his deliveries - magic crystals from Roger - with the time and place of the plague’s origin and is nearly sick himself._

_The new King of Tortall is, of course, as perceptive as ever and notices that George can barely stand to look at him.  When he has a moment to spare, he asks him about it._

_“You had me hand-deliver a plague that killed several thousand people,” George replies, furious.  Far more lives - innocent people - than George has ever taken in his years as a pirate._

_“That is a terrible thing of which to accuse your King,” Roger says, gravely._

_“What if I’d opened those crystals instead – would it be my ship and my crew burning on the water?”_

_Roger smiles.  “George, my charmingly self-serving friend, I can assure you that nothing I have ever had you carry for me would have harmed you or your ship in any way.  Now--”_

_He produces a small black jewellery box and pops the lid.  “I need you to make another delivery to Maren for me,” he says.  _

_George looks at it warily.  The Dominion Jewel._

_“What makes you think I won’t take it and run?”_

_“You have many friends and family here in Tortall, George.  More than you might think.  I sincerely doubt you’d leave them all behind.”_

_Ah.  Threats.  “And what makes you think your cousin won’t end up using it against you?”_

_“My cousin has far more pressing matters to worry over than anything I’d care to wish upon him.  Civil war, for instance, should his loyal subjects realize that one of his goals is to end the slave trade.  I am not opposed to having him as an ally.”  He holds out the box._

_“Take it.  It’s a coronation gift – I believe you’ll agree he can make good use of it.  There’s a list or two floating around: a party of delegates, more gifts.  I’ll have my steward bring them to you and you can make arrangements with the fleet.”_

_George accepts it, outplayed._

_“Thank you, George,” Roger says, and George would like nothing more than to punch him in his shiny white teeth._

******

Alanna ambushes him again that night.  “I don't want to fight with you," she says. "I'm sorry I said I didn't want to marry you.  It was just my mouth running away with me. I never should taken Jon’s word over yours.”

“Lass, I appreciate it, but to be fair, I was sneaking around,” George says.  “I promise, though, I haven’t done anything illegal.”

“You were sneaking around,” she repeats.

George pulls the Dominion Jewel from his pocket and rests it in front of her.  Surprised, Alanna recognizes its box.  She picks it up and opens it, anyway, making sure.

“I don’t get it,” she says, snicking it shut again.

“Roger gave it to me to give to Prince Jonathan.”

“And you’ve been sitting on it?  George, if you give it to him now, his entire court will be wondering if we didn't give to him sooner because we don't trust him.”

“I wanted to make sure he wouldn’t abuse the power, that he would help his subjects.  I went off into the villages to hear what his people had to say about him.”

He’d brought a lot of items he’d previously stolen from Maren, too, and left them as tribute to the Goddess.

“That’s strangely altruistic of you.  Does he pass your judgement?”  Alanna quirks her eyebrow.

“He’ll be a good King,” George says.  “I’ve known it for a while.  This will be useful to him,” he taps the Jewel case.

“That’s great.  What’s the problem?”

“Me,” George admits.  “I’m jealous, for one.  You like him,” he smiles.

“George,” Alanna groans, annoyed.  "I know I said I didn't want a fight, but I'd like to mention how insulting it is that you think my loyalties are divided.  I love my country."

"I know it, in my head.  My heart told me you'd found another great mission in life, helping his Highness sort out his country.  I had a moment's panic that you might not come home."

"I am coming home.  I am going to marry you.  Don't think you can get out of it now!"

"I wouldn't dare," George replies.  "You said you loved your country.  Do you love its King?"

"Roger?  I... suppose.  I respect him a great deal.  He's brought peace and stability to Tortall, opened up trade, he's given my brother a place at court - there are so many scholars and mages and artisans who have thrived under him. I appreciate what he's done for me too - I know he often thinks of me as a curiosity and an amusement, but he's never looked down at me for being a woman and he's supported me against the objections of all his nobles."

“I was angry with him," George says.  "So very angry.  He used me for his own ends without so much as a by-your-leave and I hated him for it.  I figured out I was holding on to the Jewel just to spite him.”

“What did he do?”

“He had me deliver a message, and as it turns out, that's not all it was.  I didn't ask him the questions I ought to have before accepted the task.  I may not like him all that much, but I agreed to work for him, knowing who he was and respecting him for it.  As you've pointed out, we could certainly do worse.  Tortall has peace, we have each other, and I have a small plot of land which would be perfect for raising a family, if you’re interested.”

“I might be, at that.”

_**_

_George commissions a temple to be built near the Swoop.  He hires the Bazhir architects and mosaicists that built Roger’s beautiful summer home and his Mithran temple in Corus.  He likes the elegant design of the Tortallan walls capped by Bazhir domes._

_And then he opens up his stores of treasure and lets them use most of it to decorate the walls – gold leaf and gemstones and coloured glass._

_The main altar is for the Goddess, or the Wave-Walker as they sometimes call her in the mountains, the bounty of the sea.  The Temple itself is the fruit of a life spent honouring Kyprioth._

_**_

“This is really pretty tacky, George,” Alanna says as she meets him in front of the altar.

She’s wearing a low-cut dress made of shiny violet satin, and he can’t take his eyes off her.  “No it’s definitely not,” he says.

“I meant the walls,” Alanna sighs.

He hand-waves it.  "You didn't want an austere ceremony."  Just family and friends, including some of the Rogue and George's crew, all cleaned up, and Alanna's Knightmaster, Wyldon of Cavall, with a couple of his older daughters.

The Queen of the Rogue drapes them with wreaths of marigold.  “I can't believe you're letting him decorate your home,” she says.  Alanna's running off in a week to help Queen Thayet train the first of her new pony-riding troops.

George holds up their clasped hands for Rispah to tie and nods his head to the ring on Alanna’s finger.  Alanna smiles and he grins back, the romantic in him pleased that she still wears the first thing he ever stole.

"I trust him," Alanna says.

On second thought, maybe he should buy Alanna a new ring and return that one to the Goddess.

**Author's Note:**

> Roger's court is based on the court of Roger II of Sicily. His Admiral, George of Antioch commanded his Navy and brought home many treasures. Roger's palace and church exist to this day (as does George's church), and they are stunning - a unique combination of Norman and Arabic styles.


End file.
